Among the living the Bird
Is dead. Wailing sax heart
Singing among the reeds ...
Dark poet climbing the
Morning air ...Humming
Your woodwind song ...
Bird of the heavenly
Sound. Telling your sad
Lyric story of the
Memphis night. Bird
Sing your funky blue song
In your fresh new way
So that even the blackest
Night becomes the day ..

I AM A YOUTH

I am a youth who calls
into
The abysmal blackness
of the night ...
While myriad starflowers
Dance
Upon the echoes
of the wind ...
For youth must reach
And dip his fingers
in the dewy vastness
Of a cloud ....
And sing
His song of youth
into the silent night
Aloud ....
( 1953)

BETE NOIR

The black beast of was has come
The blinding fear, the distant drum
Bombs that break the soul apart
And leave despair in every heart.

Nationalism is its decay
In its death agony today

Will not live beyond tomorrow
Be it known in all truth
Be it said without sorrow.

EPIGRAMS

An artist should be sincere
Enough to tell the truth
Even if has to imagine it.

COME AT NIGHTCome at night my love
When the lonely stars are out
And the anxious moon is waiting

Come,
when the night is blue
And the sad People are dreaming
in their beds

Come my dearest
when the blue night
caresses you as a lover

O come to me and I
Will hold your wild heart
Warm and close
In the touch of my hand

Come, my love, when the night
Is innocent and I will hold you
ever so gently
in my dreams.....

Byron Hunt 1959

POEM FOR BYRON HUNT

In the San Francisco daylight
Stood a young man on the street
he was round & smily and wore glasses
This young man had wild eyes
and a room full of color
The real museum of Modern Art
yellow as the sun
red as trees and grass
blue as the sky
fuscia as a ladies behind
orange as the moon
He loves the moon
All in his room at the Goodman Hotel
A True Artist Byron Hunt
Humble man of the people and the street
To know this man is to know heart